


Shuttlepod Two

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [7]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Hanging around in an asteroid belt. They've got plenty of air, but nothing to do.  Trip’s got a plan to kill a little time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
> **Author's notes:** Unbeta'd and not mine!  
>  My latest fic with a semblance of plot is misbehaving: so I've dispensed with the effort for this one. Hope you enjoy the latest positively pointless piece of smut!

"Well, it all checks out." Deftly disarming their prototype portable phase-modulated weapon with a few flicks of a well-oiled switch, Malcolm turned to face his companion with a grin. "I expect at least a _"nice job, Lieutenant"_ from my superior officer, Sir."

"Nice job, Loo-tenant," Trip parroted obligingly without tearing his eyes from the hatch at the rear of the shuttle. "That's one heck of a spread of space-dust we've caused; guess Enterprise'll have no trouble findin' us."

"You're paranoid about asteroid fields." Reed slipped out of the pilot's seat and sauntered to slouch opposite his lover on a narrow padded bench which - at a push - could pass for a bunk. "Insisting we use Pod Two... did you see the look T'Pol gave us? All the sims were run using Pod One..."

"You know she's never forgiven us for proving the Vulcan Science Directorate's theory of micro-singularities last time we took that damn thing into an asteroid belt." Never mind T'Pol: Travis had had a field day with his sudden bout of superstitious panic and even Hoshi had been giggling as she'd called their launch clearance from the bridge. "Just as well they've conquered their emotions, or they'd be squirming fit to bust about that."

"Ambassador Soval being made to cringe by us - what a pretty picture." According to the shuttle's chronometer they had time to kill before Enterprise swooped in to rendezvous and not, Reed thought with satisfaction, a micro-singularity in sight. "I'll start analysing the data, shall I?"

"No rush." Lolled back against the bulkhead, Trip treated the dark-haired man to a lazy top-to-toe appraisal, his full, kissable lips turning up at the comet-flare of reaction through changeable wintry-ocean eyes. "You know what I've been thinking?"

"'fraid mind-reading wasn't part of my training, even with Section 31," Malcolm replied airily, as if the direction of his companion's thought wasn't indicated by the unmistakable movement of material around his crotch. "Go on, then. Enlighten me."

Gravity within the vessel, Tucker knew as an engineer, was held at a constant Earth sea-level setting. So the sudden rush of light-headedness that hit him could only be a result of the sultry, knowing smile being flashed across the cabin by the sexiest damn smartass in the whole of Starfleet.

"Been thinkin' I've never seen you make love to yourself, darlin'." His voice sounded strange - as if it was coming across a lousy comm. line or a million kilometres of empty space. His penis twitched hard, distracting him so badly he almost missed the slack-jawed instant of raw passion that flashed across his boyfriend's habitually composed features. "I'd love to see you make yourself lose control."

Malcolm's throat worked violently. "Really?" he squeaked.

"You've never fantasised about me that way?" Disappointment stabbed him in the gut, but a prickling awareness muted the pain. Malcolm's nostrils were flaring, a sure sign of either mounting irritation or reluctant arousal: and given the way his hands had moved to cover his groin Trip wasn't expecting a trademark _Lieutenant Reed_ snark any time soon.

"I didn't say that, Commander." The itch along Trip's spine flared into a serpent of fire throughout his entire body. He watched the covering hands slide away to reveal a prominent bulge between his best friend's thighs as Malcolm shifted his feet further apart for greater comfort - and, Tucker realised excitedly, access. "I simply never imagined you'd be interested. Our encounters have a habit of being awfully... reciprocal."

"I got nothin' against reciprocal, _Leftenant_." The standard Royal Navy pronunciation got him a wholehearted, if slightly hazy, grin. "In fact, seein' as how we've got time to kill and a whole shuttlepod to ourselves I was wonderin' if you'd be interested in a little _reciprocity_ right now?"

"Mutual masturbation?" Reed suggested, rewarded for his admirably even tone by a volcanic blush and a very charming Southern stammer of assent. He toyed with the tab of his zipper, already tugged lower than regulation in response to the physical effort required to manipulate their at best semi-portable portable weapon. "That _was_ your suggestion, I think?"

"And I used to think you were such a good boy!" Trip spluttered, blindly grabbing for a water flask as cough-induced tears stung his eyes. Slapping it into his outstretched palm Malcolm cocked a questioning brow. 

"I'm game," he said, a roll of the shoulders freeing them from the top part of his coverall. Languidly stretching as close to full height as he could in the cabin he worked the constricting garment free, one hand delving into his briefs to bring his swelling treasure into plain sight. Trip's tongue flickered out. "Come on. Reciprocity, Commander."

"No ranks." Captivated, Trip obeyed the husky command without conscious thought, sighing at the brush of a callused finger against his bloated flesh. "Take it all off, Mal. Let me see you naked."

"Hmm, greedy. I like it." 

He couldn't believe that he, Malcolm Andrew Reed, Lieutenant (senior grade) was doing this. Stripping off in a shuttle hanging in the middle of God-only-knew which megalomaniac alien race's neighbourhood rubbish tip under the hot stare of a half naked (which, after all, wasn't nearly naked enough) senior officer who was eyeing him like a Klingon on the trail of a juicy targ. And that it was turning him on so much he could hardly breathe.

Ingrained habit made him fold every displaced item, smoothing out the extra creases as he stacked them on his bench and turned, his mouth risking an insubordination charge by turning up into a cocky grin that even to a lust-befuddled Trip must betray his feigned indifference. "Oi! _Full_ reciprocity Commander. Get those pants off. Now!"

"Yessir." Jonathan Archer's orders never got that quick a response, and Malcolm felt something deep inside ping as comprehension slammed him like a Surak-class cruiser. He wasn't the only one secretly turned-on by a bossy lover.

The tip of his tongue circled the brunet's parted lips. "Mmmm, lovely," he cooed, digging his bare buttocks comfortably into the thin cushions of the bench, legs spread and right hand drifting unguided to rest against his inner thigh. Arching his back he let his head drop against the bulkhead, veiling the gleam in his smouldering eyes as he regarded his lover wriggling into a comfortable position, feet apart and toes sweetly splayed opposite him. He couldn't be blamed, he decided, for openly ogling the rising staff of delicious flesh rearing toward the man's tight stomach. "Sure you wouldn't like me on my knees, dealing with that?"

Long golden fingers clamped around the object of his admiration, making his ignored phallus throb with a delicious agony that demanded his immediate attention. "Leave it to me, darlin'," Trip drawled, his eyes flickering between the hand resting casually in Malcolm's lap and the other making a languid ascent over the Englishman's belly, fingers splayed to catch nipples already tightened with excitement. "You got a handful of your own to be dealin' with."

"So I have." Idly Malcolm danced the fingers of his right hand across his tender balls, a hiss escaping between his clenched teeth at the sensation skittering out. Trip was watching his smallest move with the fascination of a rabbit in headlights, his own hands frozen in place around his groin. What ought to have felt excruciatingly awkward was actually unbelievably arousing.

Trip was frankly ogling him. Face flushed, the veins in his neck bulged and throbbed in time with that running along Malcolm's cock. "Like what you see?" the dark-haired man rasped. The blond's head jerked.

"Oh, yeah. Touch yerself, darlin'. Show me how y' like it."

"Oh!"

One man leaned forward as the other slouched back. Narrow-eyed, Trip focussed on the minimal movements of his boyfriend's right hand, now dancing over a tender testicle, then sweeping lightly up the length of that mouth-watering shaft, thumb dipping into the glistening droplets that formed like perfect pearls over the slit. Every time he swept the natural lubricant off over his length, Malcolm seemed to quiver to his extended toes. 

Absently Trip gave himself a reassuring squeeze, working his fingers down to encircle the base. Breathing was a physical effort and he was too warm, a contrast with their previous shuttle experience that would have made him smile at any other time. He bit his bottom lip, concentrating on the subdued whimpering sounds escaping his companion. "Stop teasin' yourself, Mal. You wanna come hard, dontcha?"

"Aaah, yes." His left hand worked from one nipple to the other and back, making the odd, fleeting detour to the back of his neck or down to his belly button; the right had glued itself with the stickiness of pre-come to his aching cock, and irritably Malcolm abandoned his lazy stroking motion for a harder, more focussed series of tugs and flicks, his backside burrowing deeper into the foam cushion as he rose and fell into a grasping palm. "Trip!"

"Right here, darlin'." His throat felt so thick the words damn near jammed in it. Trip's hand clenched reflexively over the pulse beating hard in the base of his cock, feeling the scorching heat of blood pump through the prominent vein. Malcolm's chiselled features were flushed and glistening, sweat dribbling down the length of his straight nose, and Tucker's tongue flicked out as if he could catch it when it fell. Almost carelessly he rubbed and pulled his burning cock, fixated on the spectacular sight across the cabin. "C'mon. Make it happen for me. Lemme see you losin' it now."

It wasn't his own expert touch that sent Malcolm over the edge; it was the sugared voice dripping that erotic command into his ear that transferred instantaneously to his compacted balls, causing his fingers to tighten and the white heat in his groin to erupt throughout his body in deep, throbbing contractions that carried him out of the shuttle to float among the stars. He was vaguely aware of Trip's name on his tongue; of the deeper, harsher growl of his lover's sudden climax wrapping around him, holding him safe as he dissolved, a puddle of liquid satisfaction to stain Starfleet's legendarily hardwearing upholstery. 

"Malcolm!" Caught up in the splendour of his lover's release Trip had completely failed to notice the building pressure of his own, the raw heat of it seizing him with the ferocity of an onrushing tsunami just as the Englishman's shuddering began to ease, catapulting him into bliss. "So hot, darlin'," he mumbled, the words hazy and faraway. "Knew y' would be."

"Mmmm." Sleepy, Malcolm creaked open one eye and let his heart melt into the same kind of runny jelly as his boneless limbs. "Thought I'd be out of practise; 's been a while."

"That a complaint, Lootenant?"

"Hardly, Comm _aan_ der." Lazy as a cat in the sunshine Reed extended the title to match his full-body stretch, draping his legs along the bench with both hands tucked to support his still-revolving head. "Your hand's far more satisfying usually. Must've been your encouragement that made _that_ so good."

"Thank y' kindly, darlin'." The Brit was half-asleep, Trip realised drowsily, copying the younger man's prone posture as he began to succumb to the same indolent heaviness that possessed his partner. _No harm in a little snooze. Johnny's all excited to be inspecting that damn nebula, they'll be taking scans for hours yet. Nothing wrong with a catnap._

But for the occasional patter of low-level space junk striking the hull, Shuttlepod Two hung in silence. Until something screeched and a pair of bright red lights began to flash on the pilotâ€™s panel.

"...mander Tuck... Ent...prise to shutt... Two. Trip, ...colm, respond!"

"Wha..." Startled into semi-consciousness Malcolm fell off his bunk, one hand clawing on instinct for the nearest item of clothing - Trip's tank - he could find. With an indulgent smile, Tucker reached past him, flicking open the comm.

"We'e reading you, Cap'n, but only just," he announced with a composure that amazed him given the presence of a nude Malcolm Reed scrabbling on the floor at his feet. "You're ahead of schedule, Sir."

"The nebula was a disappointment." Laughter informed his old friend's voice and that if nothing else made Trip feel bad about his decidedly unprofessional state. "I hope you've got better news to report."

"A-1 over here Sir." He could make out a blip at the edge of scanner range that must represent Enterprise, cruising up at high warp. Time to end the conversation and get some clothes on, Tucker decided. "We'll be right with you."

"No rush, Trip; unless Malcolm wants to start checking over the data."

"No time like the present, Sir."

The tone was businesslike; Reed was just thankful his commanding officer couldn't see the fiery blush that stained his cheeks as he spoke, still half-dressed and with one boot wedged beneath the bench, refusing to come out for the persuasion of anything less than a sledgehammer. Jonathan Archer's friendly chuckle resonated through the compact cabin.

"We'll rendezvous in an hour; I'll have Tanner and Morozova standing by in the armoury. Archer out."

The silence that followed the channel's snap shut was crushing. "Guess we better do somethin' about this mess, huh?" Trip suggested, a wave of the hand indicating the scattering of clothes around the cabin floor and the spattering of semen that had escaped onto the fixtures and fittings. He sniffed expressively. "You got aftershave or anything in your pockets?"

"Have you?" Mortification was beginning to recede into merciful, if hysterical, humour. "Erm, you know you were developing a vidlink?"

"Fuck." Trip's mouth began to twitch uncontrollably. "Can you imagine if it'd been installed already?"

" _In glorious Technicolor_ , if I remember your drunken boast correctly." The words emerging in the middle of a guffaw, Malcolm stopped with one foot still hanging in midair as he grinned at his partner. "T'Pol's eyebrow would never come down again! Can you get my bloody boot out from under there? It's got wedged, and I refuse to _hop_ out of the launch bay!"

Laughing, Trip flopped onto his belly, using his best hyperspanner to coerce the recalcitrant object out of its corner and ostentatiously polishing the resultant scuff mark with the hem of his shirt. "We could flood the cabin with oxygen?" he suggested, drawing the heavy musk of recent sex deep into his lungs. "Might send us a lil' high, but the effects shoulda worn off in an hour."

Malcolm clambered into the pilot's seat, hands carefully tucked beneath his butt. "I think I'm still _a lil' high anyway_ , Commander: so perhaps you should stay in the back," he suggested, almost hitting the prim note he'd been after. With a rueful grin Trip turned his back and unleashed a cleansing dose of fresh air through the cockpit. 

The smell was flushed away in an instant. When T'Pol followed the captain through the hatch to study their initial live-fire data immediately they got aboard, Trip found himself regretting that.

"Hot damn," he breathed, resting his overheated brow against the shuttle's hull as his colleagues trooped out of the cavernous launch bay. "Maybe I really do want someone to catch us with our pants down!"

When he thought about it later, wrapped around his lover in the safety of his own bed, he realised that really should have bothered him a whole lot more than it did.


End file.
